Acquainted with Grief: How do we overcome sorrow and disappointment?

He was despised and rejected— a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care.

—Isaiah 53:3 NLT

When I realized I had to cancel my spring break trip to visit my family in Texas, I was overcome with deep sorrow. I had longed for this trip for months. I hadn’t seen my grandchildren, Layla and Zion, since August, and their father, my son-in-law, as well. While my daughter, Emma, had brought their newborn, Tiago, to Maryland in October, it still seemed too much time had separated us. But I had no choice as the pandemic pushed through.

Across the globe, we are practicing social distancing and suffering the disappointment of cancellations. Weddings, graduations, milestone birthday celebrations. We are sad, but we do it for the greater good.

Early yesterday morning in the quiet moments before dawn, I pulled out my devotionals and read through the passages designated for the day. My eyes focused on the date. Had I gone on my trip, this would have been the day I would have awakened next to Layla, as I usually shared a bed with her when I visited (and she usually shared a bed with me when she came to the farm to visit). My flight would have arrived late in the night. She probably would have been asleep by the time I got to the apartment. This morning would have been a joyous time of reuniting with each other.

Since her family moved to Texas, our visits had been few and far between. I remember when they were frequent, how often Layla stayed with me when her parents attended conferences and retreats for the ministry. Through these visits, we formed a deep bond and always had a joyous time, no matter what we did. Some of my fondest memories were our walks to the barnyard to point out the farm animals. I can still see two-year-old Layla with her bouncy hairdo that matched the tail of the rooster she chased around the yard.

As I continued my morning meditation, I heard the rooster crow. Ten seconds later, he crowed again. Again and again and again, as if he wanted to make sure I was awake. Or maybe He wanted to make a point.

I remembered from the Bible that the night of the Last Supper, Jesus predicted Peter would deny Him three times before the rooster crowed and that all of His disciples would fall away. Peter declared that he would never disown Jesus, and all the others said the same (Matthew 26:31-35). But it happened just as Jesus said (vs. 69-75).

Jesus is fully God. He knew what would happen. But He was also fully man and, like us, suffered disappointment. The Bible says, “He was despised and rejected— a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care” (Isaiah 53:3 NLT).

Jesus is well acquainted with grief and disappointment. Peter and all the others disowned Him. Judas betrayed Him. And even now, we betray Him with our words and actions.

In great anguish, Jesus prayed for God to remove the cup from Him; His sweat fell like drops of blood (Luke 22:40-46). But God did not. Jesus was nailed to the cross for all of us, even those who turned their backs on Him. As He hung there in agony, He cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46).

Many of us are praying that God would remove this cup from us. We may be disappointed that God would allow coronavirus to ravage our land. We question why He hasn’t stepped in by now. Has He forsaken us?

God had not forsaken Jesus, but allowed His suffering for the greater good. Likewise, He has not forsaken us, but allowing our pain too for a greater good.

In my own life, I see it as more than flattening the curve, but a time to draw closer to God, a time to slow down and pay attention to the beauty of creation and recognize the Creator. And no better time to do that than spring, especially this week as we approach Easter.

As I take regular walks on the farm, I am re-experiencing the joy of a child discovering for the first time flowers bursting forth from the ground—violets strewn at my feet and tiny white wildflowers dotting the landscape. I lift my head to follow the screech of an eagle and turn my ear to the boisterous barnyard rooster. Through it all I am reminded that if God cares about the flowers and the birds, how much more does He care for me (Matthew 6:26-34). I have hope He will come through, and that gives me the strength to endure the tough times and overcome the disappointment. “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles…” (Isaiah 40:31). And in time they will soar on to Texas.

Dear God, I know You are acquainted with my grief and You care. Thank You for all the ways You remind me I am not forsaken, such as resurrecting flowers from the cold hard ground, like You resurrected a Savior from the tomb for me. I love You, Lord.